The Sea's Warrior (Fem Percy x YJ) [REWRITE]

45

Bruce is going to be pissed.

I knew that long before I stumbled off of Blackjack's back. The anticipation of the yelling, screaming, throwing me out for being ungrateful, pressed heavy on my shoulders. It made me sick. And after the third time I threw up, Blackjack forced me to set up camp, leaving me to pray that no one would find me.

I'd had half a thought, as I lay on the dirt, to call out to Dad. How nice would it be to curl in his arms and let him take care of me when I had a stress-fever and couldn't keep food down? To feel his warm hand card through my hair or rub my back? His name was on my tongue so many times, but I couldn't do it.

I should've. Should've called him or found a spot with a creek or river I could have slipped into. The hard, dry ground was uncomfortable, and Blackjack's outstretched wing didn't retain much heat. Besides, water made everything better.

All in all, I was miserable long before Bruce rushed me out the door within ten minutes of getting back. I blinked blearily at him in the car. He sat between me and Dick; I couldn't figure out why. Did I do something wrong? Wouldn't put it past myself, but there wasn't anything I could think of that would make Bruce put himself between us like I was a threat.

"What are we doing?" I mumbled. Didn't ask why he was between us. That'd be rude. 

He frowned and reached over. I flinched. Was that rude? Did he not want me to ask? His cold hand pressed against my forehead, pushing sweaty hair aside and shutting up my thoughts. My eyes fluttered. I leaned into it. How much. . . would I have to sacrifice to be allowed to stay like that?

"You're burning up," he said. He shifted. "Did you sleep outside last night?"

"Got lost."

"That's why you keep your phone on you."

I laughed, a harsh bark of a sound. Funny. Very funny. I'd be dead if I had it. Bruce ignored me: Dick stared. My seatbelt rasped as it retracted, and I blinked. I didn't--

"Where did you end up?" Bruce asked, pulling me to rest against him.

"Dunno."

His hand pressed harder against my head. "Fugue?"

I squinted up at him. Fugue? Like a fugitive? Why did he want to know about criminals?

"Dissociative state. Where everything's kinda foggy and you don't remember much," Dick said. More helpful than Bruce, but louder. I shoved my face into Bruce's chest. It was hard and unfamiliar. Not the right smell. Not the right arm over me.

"Percy--"

"I want Mom." This wasn't right. It just. . . wasn't. Mom would let me cuddle with her in her bed. She'd stroke my hair and kiss my forehead and give me a blue Jolly-Rancher to suck on. And a light blue Gatorade. Not a dark blue one. She would've noticed I wasn't feeling good.

Muttering a curse, Bruce pulled me tight to him. "I know. I know you do. Alfred, do you think she could stay in the car?"

No. I couldn't, and I hated it as Bruce pulled away from me and Dick, leaving us standing in the large lobby of the school. Trophies filled the cases along the far wall. Some looked cool, others didn't, and Dick pointed at one with pride.

I'd have to check what that trophy was for once the room stopped spinning.

Everything was loud. Overwhelming. Too bright. Too many voices. Bile scorched the back of my throat. Fuck, how was I supposed to do this? Was it just from being sick? The itch in my brain, that crawling on my skin, that didn't feel like it was from a fever. I leaned against the wall to support myself.